Old-growth Extreme Topiarist

At last, at last. Symmetrical at last.

My biggest problem with nature is that it lacks all culture, untouched as it is by human hand, and when it is touched by human hand the hand tends to come away dirty because nature is full of dirt. It’s simply not a pleasant place to be. I could have called a committee meeting about it, but I’m no dawdler. Also, my insurance company had sent me a final notice that I would be dropped from my plan should I take on any other chainsaw or trapeze-based activities, so I had to go rogue on this one and put the business in Jeannie-Fayelene Bakker’s name. (Due to the demons of her Appalachian past, Ms. Jeannie-Fayelene won’t set foot in forest, wood or bathtub– any place where moonshine stills are traditionally located– so the enterprise was entirely my own undertaking.)

The first trees I tackled were Muir Woods in northern California. I had to make my move in the middle of the night, as the rangers denied my offer to trim their trees during visiting hours– something I can only imagine would have proven a huge tourist draw, and demonstrates the sad state of the bureaucratic process. What’s more, I had to work fast and with as little noise as possible. (You may also note that I invented the world’s most effective chainsaw silencer for just this purpose, and said silencer is built into most models today.) I began at 11 pm, and knocked off at 3:45-ish. But in that short amount of time, I managed to transform what was once a rough, untamed wood into a magical glen that all could enjoy. I not only reshaped the needled, upper portions of the trees into perfect spheres, but I carved giant old man faces into the trunks at eye-level! Never have I seen so many visitors to a National “Park” weeping openly at the sight of nature, finally neutralized. Though many of my endeavors cause similar swellings of deep emotion, similar torrents of tears, I would say that this instance moved me the most. I knew that if I could bring this feeling to so many people at just this one old-growth forest, it would be morally negligent of me not to chainsaw my way across the continent, the globe.

Little did I know that I had tapped a vast, underserved market. Not only was I receiving calls from Forest Service branches (as well as civilians) throughout the United Somethings of America, as soon as the word got out, the calls started pouring in from all nations of the world. Even nations without trees wanted me– to sculpt their sand dunes or dig stylish trenches into their permafrost. The fact of the matter was that I couldn’t keep up. I hired and trained scads of workers, but only a few could topiate to my high standards. Unfortunately, many millions of acres of forest have gone un-shorn, and seem destined to remain so… after six years I felt that my life was running me, that the demands from all sides were never-ceasing, and that it was no longer worth it. I threw in the snot rag and called it beer-thirty.

Many of these previously stunning forests have now been left in decline to fall back to their untouched state. You would never know, were it not for glossy coffee table books and the distant memories of a select few individuals, the former glory of the National Forests. Dear readers, this is one instance I will implore you– please steal my idea. Take up the cause and make America beautiful once again.